


Negotiations

by somali77



Category: Weiss Kreuz - Fandom
Genre: Abduction, Bondage, Discussions of sex, Forced, M/M, NSFW, Power Imbalance, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 23:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12804252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somali77/pseuds/somali77
Summary: "Captive Yohji attempts to seduce Crawford in an effort to improve his circumstances"





	Negotiations

~

»You know«, he tries again, although his voice wavers from hurt and exhaustion, »We could... I could... give you a good time.«

The last word breaks in a croak.  
He coughs. A warm drizzle of blood flows from the side of his mouth to the concrete beneath, where his head is resting. He spits it out discreetly, careful not to offend anyone.

Crawford, in the corner of the room, smiles.

He just sits there with his back in the shadows, blue light from the laptop next to him reflecting from his glasses and making his face glow pale and cold, giving his features a rougher, edgier side. Almost inhuman.

Yohji muffles a moan.  
He shifts a little in his position, although the other told him to stay put. It hurts. This fucking German doesn´t know how to tie knots. Or he does, and did it intentionally so that his fingers would go numb with time.

 

»Something the matter?«

Oracle´s gleaming glasses focus on his direction. The Schwarz- leader lifts his hand in this infamous move of his, adjusting the ridge of his glasses just so. And the voice, this fucking voice, is giving him goosebumps.

»Fucking binds hurt«, Yohji sighs.  
He still isn´t sure if he´s lucky or unlucky to be in the hands of their leader. He does seem like somewhat more of a reasonable guy compared to the rest of his team. He gives off a slightly more stable impression than the fucking German psycho or the actual Irish psycho, but given his luck, he probably makes a hobby out of smashing other men´s balls with a meat hammer...

 

Without warning, Oracle rises up from the small chair he was sitting into and Yohji tries not to flinch. He breathes instead. Focus, he thinks. Eyes forward.

The other man reaches over and picks him up like a parcel.  
He rolls him onto his belly without much effort and grips the underarms to inspect the binds. They´re done with thin rope, stuff that you´d use to tie a turkey with, and it´s cutting deep. Yohji stays absolutely still. Doesn´t even dare to breath at first.

Then, because he´s horrified and because he´s so very desperate, he tilts up his hips. Just a little.

 

He hears Oracle snicker.

»Easy now«, his voice is dark and silky, »Always eager to please, are you? Mmh ... I apprecciate motivation.«  
He doesn´t sound as if he intends to kill him right away. Yohji goes limp and pliant under this kind of voice. It´s something visceral, something embedded deep in his instincts. He does whimper this time, just barely audible, when he feels the cold steel of a knife at his wrists and a hand grabbing the back of his neck, holding him down.

»I´ll adjust your binds«, Crawford says, »Because you´re a very attractive man. And it´d be a shame to mess up these pretty hands of yours, wouldn´t it.«

»Yes«, Yohji says, thick and breathless, »Thank you«, and he even adds a »Sir«, just because that feels appropriate. 

»You will do as I say«, Oracle states, »This might take a while... don´t struggle. Put your hands next to your head and keep them there.«

»Yes, Sir... are you going to f-...«, he trails off as a hard tug and scrape of the steel pops his binds, the blood rushes back and the pain makes his vision go hot and blotchy. His palms find their place next to his wet, sticky face. The concrete beneath them is slimy with bloody spit. 

»F-... fuh-... uhm. Feel me up?«

He´s not exactly looking forward to the other f- thing, as easy as that would be- they´re down here alone, Yohji´s out of fighting spirit, and no one will ever know- but he´d rather not: He´s aching all over, battered and not exactly in the mood for any romance, let alone in the mood for a dry, brutal fucking in a yucky cold room with the classy »interrogation and torture«- style interior design.

»... Maybe«, Crawford muses, »Can´t say that´s not an appealing offer.«

He slips his big, warm hand onto Yohji´s bare underbelly beneath the skimpy shirt and Yohji feels a sharp familiar twitch in his gut. He feels his body go hot and his legs go weak. Closing his eyes, he tries to rub himself against the other. Carefully. Discreetly.

»Guess it´s true what they say«, Oracle comments, as if observing some kind of insect,  
»Sex -is- your number one coping mechanism. In -all- circumstances.«  
»It´s not sex alone«, Yohji protests weakly, »I could go for some Margaritas as well.«

»We could come back to that later«, the Schwarz- leader sounds genuinely amused. »So... what exactly do you have in mind? I think you did promise me a, quote: »Good time«?«

»Well...«, Yohji squirms, feeling strangely exposed, although he´s technically not even naked yet,  
»I could... get you off? Hands or-... because I think you dig personal hygiene- even... mouth, maybe? You could fuck me between the thighs... I´m okay with taking my clothes off as well and if that suits your mood I´m not opposed to... I don´t know... putting on sexy lingerie?«

Oracle laughs.  
It´s a low, warm, quiet laugh that drizzles champagne into Yohjis blood stream. He also rubs a big hand across tender sides and over the bony backside. It´s strangely comforting, but that alone triggers a suffocating dread in Yohjis subconscious, he´s too used to things taking a horrible turn when he starts to relax.

»You´re not interested?«, he breaths on all fours, trembling now and completely unsure.

»Give me your wrists«, Crawford says instead.

 

Yohji feels padded leather cuffs, broad and sturdy.  
Suddenly, he´s dunked into cold horror and frantic hot realization:

»Did... you use those to break down Aya the last time?«, he manages to ask.  
His voice comes out tight and breathless.

He hears the metallic jingle of chains and his conciousness starts slipping under a new wave of panic.

»Hey now«, Crawford says, steadying him against half-hearted attempts to squirm away, »It´s okay. Your friend is your friend and you´re you. You´ll do fine with us down here, I promise. Just trust me«, there is this trademark-smirk beneath gleaming glasses as he leans closer and says, very quietly:

»I´m a precog.«

~


End file.
